


Hear the Sirens

by sleepypercy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Exhibitionism, Incest, M/M, Oral Sex, ambiguous ending, bottom!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-29
Updated: 2013-11-29
Packaged: 2018-01-02 23:02:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepypercy/pseuds/sleepypercy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean guiltily ended things with 16-year-old Sam, he knew his brother wouldn’t take it well. But he never expected things to go this sideways - never expected to find his little brother on his knees for strange, older men. And honestly never expected the sadistic, desperate way his brother kept pushing that line between them.<br/>*fair warning: this is not a very happy fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hear the Sirens

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from a Pearl Jam song. And much love to katstark for the beta and for being so nice about my anxiety over this one.

Dean shifted awkwardly, sweat pricking under his arms and itching around his collar, everything too starchy and too stiff and just too fuckin’ uncomfortable. He checked an impulse to pull at his collar, knowing that his dad would chew him out later for breaking character if he did, despite present company being too young to care whether or not Dean was behaving like a proper priest.  
  
Currently, his dad was gently prying information out of a little girl whose friend had killed and gutted the family cat two days ago at a slumber party. It made for the third reported incident in this town involving eight-year old girls and animals in the past two weeks, and it was bizarre enough activity to draw the Winchesters to town.  
  
Since the girl was likely to share more without her dad nearby, Sam had carried out his expected job by diverting the girl’s father. Flashing 16-year old dimples and explaining that he was terrible with directions, especially in old houses like this, Sam got an escort to the bathroom, playing up his role as a good-hearted, harmless Youth Volunteer to the parish that Dean and John were pretending to shepherd. Once up there, Sam would  probably comment on the house’s architecture or ask about the soil composition of the garden out back or say whatever nerdy thing Sam could pull out of his ass while stalling the father for as long as possible.  
  
The girl proved to be a wealth of knowledge, despite being clearly shaken after seeing Madam Meow eviscerated, and while John listened intently as she tried to recall the strange, foreign words her friend had chanted over and over again, Dean tapped his father on the shoulder and made a motion upwards, indicating that he was going to check on Sam who had been gone longer than he was comfortable with.  
  
John waved off his son, notepad in hand as he tried to decipher which language the girl’s friend had been speaking, and Dean went upstairs where he’d seen her father leading Sam.  
  
Halfway up the stairs, Dean stopped and frowned as an odd, muted sound echoed through one of the walls, somewhere between a grunt and a gasp. As ambiguous as the noise was, it had Dean on edge in a way he couldn’t shake off. He jumped the last few steps, throwing open the first door he came across in the hallway, willing to risk the bad manners as long as it settled the pit in his stomach. He wasn’t sure what he was afraid of, but with all the monsters they came across in their lives, it was sometimes easy to forget that humans could be just as dangerous.  
  
On the other side of the door, he was relieved to see his brother whole and intact, but after a dizzying minute where he had to convince his brain to accept what his eyes were seeing, he _almost_ wished Sam had been in physical danger. Because it would be so much simpler to deal with violence and injury instead of _this_.  
  
His little brother was on his knees in front of the girl’s father, mop of hair brushing inside the man’s thighs while his mouth moved up and down in a motion that confirmed an expertise in cock-sucking that _should_ have make Sam blush from all that wanton, enthusiastic sensuality. Dean knew all-too-well what Sam’s lips felt like wrapped around his cock, and for a brief moment he felt it stir in interest at the wet slurps and muffled moans coming from that lush, young mouth.  
  
The man’s eyes had flown open at Dean’s entrance, his fingers reflexively tightening in Sam’s hair before trying to push him off, but Sam stubbornly refused to move, mouth working as hard as ever if not more intently. There was a small movement in Sam’s throat as his hand slid underneath his busy mouth, down the man’s spit-wet cock, fingers travelling places Dean couldn’t see, and then the girl’s father made a strangled sound as he shot thick and heavy down Sam’s throat, coming almost against his will while his eyes widened in panic and shame.  
  
For as long as it took Sam to swallow and helpfully tuck the man’s softening dick into his pants before zipping it up, Dean couldn’t move, could barely think against all the emotions churning in his stomach until he thought for sure he was going to be sick. And then Sam got to his feet, shooting Dean a small, pleased smirk that needled under Dean’s skin and woke him from his stupor. He glared hotly at his brother before lunging at the man, fist all ready for the satisfying feel of breaking that motherfucker’s face and painting it red.  
  
Sam stepped in the way before the blow could land and pulled Dean back, hissing out a sharp “ _Don’t_ ” while using Dean’s momentum to shove him into the dresser by the side of the bed, knocking the hard wood off-balance and spilling a lamp and alarm clock to the floor. Dean thought about escalating things; thought about pushing Sam down on the floor hard enough to give Dean a chance to kill the guy whose cock had just been halfway down his brother’s throat. But something about the way Sam’s expression stayed cold and bitter had Dean freezing in place.  
  
He managed to growl out a hoarse “What the hell?”  and his stomach tightened at the way his brother’s expression didn’t waver in the slightest. He knew he deserved that anger, was willing to accept that this was _his_ fuck-up. But it was still difficult to face just how thoroughly Sam was shutting him out and punishing Dean for daring to walk away.  
  
From the bed, the man cleared his throat awkwardly and interrupted with, “I – oh god, I didn’t – ”  
  
“ _Shut up_ ,” Dean snarled, and the man’s jaws clamped together so hard that Dean wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d bitten his tongue.  
  
“You gonna tell Dad?” Sam asked, eyes level against Dean’s, and there was a challenging tone in his voice that made Dean wonder if his brother _wanted_ their dad to know – wanted to lay bare every skeleton in the Winchester family closet; shed light to every shameful secret and painful vulnerability they never talked about.  
  
“You know I won’t,” Dean answered in a low voice, and Sam’s lips twitched like he found Dean’s loyalty ironic.  
  
“Good.”  
  
Wiping the edge of his lips off with his thumb, Sam walked towards the door, waiting until Dean walked out ahead before heading downstairs.  
  
* &*  
  
After that incident, Dean kept a sharper watch on his little brother, worried and uneasy every moment Sam was out of his sight. He knew his dad caught on to that tension, although he didn’t say a word about it – not that that surprised Dean. He’d inherited his talent for _not talking about things_ from his dad, and if there was one thing in this world he could always count on, it was John Winchester’s ability to avoid dealing with things.  
  
Of course, Sam had different ideas. He always did. And if he couldn’t force Dean to talk about this, then he’d force Dean to deal with the fact that he still _wanted_ his little brother, despite how many promises he’d made to both Sam and himself to never act on it again.  
  
A couple days later, they were in the southeast corner of Idaho, their dad busy with stacks of tomes and stripped weapons spread out on the desk in front of him. Sam was sprawled on the couch, faced away from John while he sleepily watched the tail-end of some science show Dean didn’t really get. Since it was lunch time, Dean was at the stovetop, putting together grilled cheese sandwiches.  
  
Sometimes Dean wondered if he possessed another sense beyond the five; something that was tuned in to Sam in a way beyond normal perceptions. He swore he could feel a kind of tickle in the back of his mind when Sam was about to do something stupid or defiant, both of which had become all-too-frequent occurrences lately. So when Sam’s hand moved to push his shirt up and scratch idly at his belly, Dean knew it was more than just a casual contact. Something was up.  
  
As Dean spread a thick layer of butter on the outsides of the sandwiches, he could see movement out of the corner of his eye. He glanced over to see his brother’s other hand coming up to touch his face, brushing across soft cheeks, ghosting under his eyes, trailing down the soft-brown mole on the side of his nose and then tracing around his lips, fingers gentle as feathers.  
  
Saliva started pooling inside Dean’s mouth as he remembered how good his brother’s lips felt against his own, but he quickly swallowed it down, setting the sandwich onto the frying pan, trying to concentrate on the low hiss of butter as it heated and turned the soft bread a crispy, golden brown.  
  
A faint exhale made Dean’s head whip towards Sam before he darted a quick look at their father, only a few feet behind the couch, his hands and eyes concentrated on wiping the gunpowder residue out of the short barrel of his favorite sawed-off.  
  
Sam’s grin held all the promise of a hangman’s noose, and he grabbed the remote from off the floor to press the volume button a few times, taking care to keep it within an acceptable range. Eyes locked onto Dean’s, Sam dropped the remote, pushed his thin t-shirt up higher, and let that hand trail back and forth across the expanse of silky, tanned skin just above the waist of his jeans. His nails danced right on the edge of his skin, making his eyes flutter at the gentle tickle-caress.  
  
Sam’s other hand was still moving around his lips, dipping inside a few times before teasing back out and sliding across his bottom lip, flashing Dean glimpses of his pink, wet tongue. Dean had to drag his eyes away as he remembered the sandwich cooking in front of him, grabbing the spatula and flipping it to let the hot pan brown the other side.  
  
A hot flush was spreading up Dean’s chest, and as much as he tried not to look at his brother, it proved an impossible task for his nonexistent willpower. Sam’s green-flecked eyes never wavered, stayed locked onto Dean’s, and after a few minutes, Sam’s fingers finally dipped below the waist of his pants, petting into the light trail of hair and skimming lower and lower.  
  
Dean barely managed to take off the finished sandwich in time, placing the next one on the small pan without ever taking his eyes off his brother.  
  
Sam popped open the button with his knuckle then nudged down the zipper of his pants, shoving his hand inside his boxers. Dean could tell the moment his brother touched his cock because Sam’s breath huffed out and his hips arched into the touch. When his fingers wrapped around his dick and started a slow stroke, Sam’s elf-slanted eyes scrunched paper-bag tight, and once again Dean found himself darting glances between Sam and their father. Thankfully, the back of the couch was high enough to hide Sam from view, but it would only take John three or four steps to get close enough to see his youngest son’s dirty activities.  
  
The wet sounds of Sam masturbating on the couch sounded loud to Dean, although with his entire attention hyper-focused on every noise emanating from between Sam’s thighs and behind his lips, he figured his perceptions may have been a little skewed. After a few minutes of rolling his hips and choking back moans, Sam’s entire body tensed up, and Dean knew he was ready to shoot off.  
  
While Sam was still on the edge, his left hand slid up the side of his head, soft hair carding between his fingers before he gripped a section and tugged, just hard enough to feel it, just like Dean used to do when he got Sam desperate and hard and ready to come. Dean clenched his fists as he resisted the urge to press a hand against the stretched material over his crotch – definitely couldn’t risk their dad seeing when Dean was all-too-visible.  
  
A hushed gasp tumbled out of Sam’s mouth as his eyes burst open and he came, turning his head just in time to muffle a shout into the couch cushion, dick shooting hard enough that Dean could see the splatters up Sam’s forearm, his boxers no doubt completely ruined.  
  
Dean wasn’t sure how long he stood watching, but when a dark trail of smoke finally registered under his nose, he jerked back to life, grabbing the spatula and muttering “ _shit_ ” a few times as he scraped off the charred mess that used to be a sandwich.  
  
John glanced up at the noise and smell, frowning at the ruined lunch and about to speak when Dean cut in with, “It’s fine; don’t worry ‘bout it. M’not hungry anyway.” He left the two un-burnt grilled cheese sandwiches on a plate for his brother and dad and then hurried out of the room, hoping to discreetly take care of the throbbing ache between his legs. But on his way out, he was stopped by the pleased smile on Sam face; the edges of his lips curled with a spiteful, crocodile hunger that should have made Dean want to punch him but only made him want his brother all the more.  
  
Shit. _Shit_. The fucker wasn’t playing by the rules, and Dean couldn’t even begin to imagine how pissed Sam must be to risk doing something like that in front of their dad. But then again, he knew how Sam liked to push things, had always suspected his brother of a crafty, perverse streak that ran much deeper than he’d ever begin to fully comprehend; hiding a subterranean river of vices underneath puppy-dog eyes and straight-A report cards.  
  
“You okay? Need some help?” Sam asked, tone innocent but eyes flashing with dark, filthy promises, reminding Dean that all he had to do was say ‘yes’ and things could go back to the way they were. Sam’s legs fell open a little more, and Dean’s eyes darted down to where the crotch of Sam’s jeans was still split open, to the slick shine of come on the edge of his belly button, and Dean fought the urge to fall to his knees and dip his tongue in that soft indent, licking up every drip and streak on his brother’s smooth, sensitive belly.  
  
Dean couldn’t even manage a glare; just shook his head and hurried out of the room, falling against the inside of the bedroom door and shoving down his pants just far enough to get a good grip on himself. He barely had to touch his cock before he was coming, orgasm punched out so hard and fast that it had him dizzy and panting and a little nauseated.  
  
He was so fucked.  
  
* &*  
  
It was another town, another job, and Sam had called Dean to come pick him up from the school baseball field. He’d stayed after school to watch a game with a couple of friends that he’d managed to make in the few weeks they’d been there, and, to be honest, both Dean and his dad had been a little relieved to get some time away from Sam’s constant hating-the-world, nothing’s-ever-fair, teenage-angst attitude.  
  
Dean parked off the street behind the field, confused by the lack of people and cars, and when Sam didn’t immediately show, he hiked up to the field to look for him.  
  
The baseball field was completely deserted; empty stands, empty field. Dean frowned, wondering how long ago the game had ended and if he was possibly at the wrong place. He was just about to head over to the main school building when he heard a sharp, metallic bang behind the equipment shed, and – his Sammy-sense kicking in – went to check it out.  
  
This time, Sam was leaned against the fence, metal criss-crosses digging into his back and some guy’s face buried in his shoulder while Sam had his hand inside his gym shorts. The man was panting into Sam’s neck, murmuring “yeah – _yeah_ ” while Sam’s hand kept working, movements firm and smooth as he jacked the guy’s cock.  
  
Something proud and shameful twisted in Dean’s chest as he realized he’d taught him that – had guided Sam’s hands over his own cock, teaching him with hot words of approval in Sam’s ear every time those huge hands had touched him just right. Fuck, the _things_ his brother’s long, thick fingers could do could made Dean come like a freakin’ Mac truck, crashing into his orgasm almost painfully, splintered-glass pleasure scattered across his nerves as he panted against whatever surface he’d been laid out on.  
  
Sam had glanced up at Dean when he’d walked up, locking eyes and tilting his chin in a defiant _dare_ for Dean to say something; do something. _To get jealous._ Based on the polo shirt/gym shorts combo and the whistle hanging around the man’s neck, Dean had his money on Baseball Coach, and his hatred for himself burrowed even deeper as he wondered just how thoroughly he’d fucked up his brother to make him keep doing this.  
  
But he still couldn’t take it back. He wanted Sam to have a childhood – or, well, have as much of one as possible, considering Sam had never really been innocent enough to call a _child_ for a long time now. But the kid deserved one, and as fast as they’d both had to grow up, Dean couldn’t help wanting to protect every scrap of innocence possible for Sammy. As much as he wanted to kick the shit out of this guy, it wasn't gonna help anything. It wasn't gonna bring back his sweet little brother. It wasn't gonna erase what they'd been to each other.  
  
So Dean turned and walked away, went back to his car, and waited for his little brother to finish up. Mostly, his insides just felt numb, but every few seconds an image of Sam’s hand on foreign skin or his hair resting on the inside of a stranger’s thighs would flash through his mind, and Dean had to keep pushing those thoughts further and further into the deepest parts of his mind. When the silence became too much, he turned on the car’s power and blasted Metallica through the speakers, letting the pounding beats thud into his chest and war against his hammering heartbeat, making every other thought fade to black. It seemed to work for a while.  
  
Eventually, Sam’s tall, slim shadow came walking towards the car, and Dean lowered the speakers’ volume as he watched his brother walk up; watched the fluid way in which Sam’s legs moved and tried not to think about how much he loved folding those long limbs against Sam’s chest. When Sam got to the car, he opened the door with nonchalant ease and climbed in without a word. Neither of them spoke as Dean turned the ignition and pulled onto the road.  
  
He couldn’t stop wondering, however. He had to know what his brother was _thinking_. So, after a few minutes, Dean opened his mouth and, guilt-ridden and bitter and confused as _hell_ , asked, “ _Why_?”  
  
Sam snorted and shot his brother an incredulous glare. “Like you don’t know,” he responded bitterly.  
  
“No, I _don’t_ know,” Dean snapped back, already irritated and tired of his brother’s never-ending attitude. “I _don’t_ know why you’re giving head to guys twice your age. Or jackin’ ‘em off behind the bleachers. Or god knows what else you’re doing that I haven’t seen.”  
  
Sam’s eyes narrowed; mouth turned down in a low scowl that looked both disappointed and furious at the same time. It took Sam a long time to answer, and when he did, his voice was low and flat.  
  
“They don’t think I’m too young.”  
  
“Well they _should_ ,” Dean immediately retorted, and _shit_ , he should have figured out Sam’s game a long time ago. When he’d cut things off with Sam, he’d made all kinds of excuses (well, not excuses so much as valid points, really), one of which was Sam being so fuckin’ young. It was illegal in more than one way, and Dean just couldn’t stomach being responsible for one more fucked up thing in Sam’s life. It wasn’t _normal_ , what they’d been doing, and he knew how much Sam wished their lives could be.  
  
“I’m not going to stop,” Sam warned in that grating, stubborn tone of voice that made Dean want to shove him against the car window and knock some sense into him.  
  
Dean thought about threatening to keep Sam locked down from now on – picking him up the moment school got out and not letting him out of his sight until he dropped him back off the next morning. But he knew Sam was fully capable of slipping his watch if he wanted to. And with their dad needing Dean for backup most of the time, he couldn’t even guarantee that he’d be home to keep an eye on Sammy. So there was really no point with baseless threats. Instead, he huffed out a deep sigh, flexing his fingers around the steering wheel of his Baby and feeling so frustrated. Why couldn’t Sam understand how messed up this whole thing was?  
  
“If you wanna whore your ass out to every pedophile in town, I guess that’s your business,” he finally said, slow and angry because all his concern was fuckin’ useless at the moment, and Sam wouldn’t listen to it anyway. “But I’m not going to change my mind.”  
  
And then there was nothing more to say.  
  
*&*  
  
They left that town two days later, and despite knowing how futile it was, Dean insisted on keeping Sam with him as much as possible – which included taking him with them to a bar one night to follow-up on some local gossip involving strange tattoos and sudden telepathic abilities.  
  
While his dad chatted up a blonde who may or may not actually know anything, Dean nursed his third beer and wondered if he’d broken the only thing in his life that really mattered. If Sam would really hate him forever. All Dean wanted to do was be brothers again without the complicated mess between him, although even he could admit that things would _always_ be complicated. Their relationship had never been simple or easy-to-define.  
  
Since he was buzzed and broody, it took Dean a few minutes longer than usual to notice that Sam was taking an awfully long time in the bathroom. His Sammy-senses were a bit muted at the moment, lost behind the rolling San Francisco fog inside his mind. But as soon as he realized that it been almost a full twenty minutes, he could feel that familiar twitch in the back of his head, the tip of his spine vibrating like a tuning fork, and then he was out of his chair and headed to the men’s room inside of two seconds.  
  
Sam was nowhere to be found – not in the bathroom, not by the pool tables, not near the bar. Dean could feel himself going into full-panic mode, and he started grilling everyone nearby, asking if anyone had seen a floppy-haired kid in a hoodie. Thankfully, after just a few minutes, a woman pointed him towards the back door, eyebrow raised a little as she mentioned that he hadn’t been alone.  
  
Dean knew. Dean fuckin’ _knew_ what he’d find out there, but he went anyway.  
  
Sam was on the ground, knees scraping against uneven, rocky concrete while some stranger’s hand was fisted in his hair, pushing Sam’s face harder into his crotch as he snapped his hips and made Sam take it. He looked older than the last two – grey edging the hair on his temples and peppering his beard, and Dean put him in his early-to-mid forties.  
  
Dean didn’t even think; just threw himself at the guy, tore him away from his brother and started pounding him, not even sure what he was hitting but content as long as his fist kept connecting with _something_.  
  
He could feel the wetness splattered on his knuckles in ink blot test patterns by the time he registered Sam grabbing at him, and when his brother finally managed to wrench him away, Dean could see the mess he’d made of the man’s face.  
  
“Get outta here,” Sam growled while getting himself between Dean and the man, and when the guy made the smart choice of going inside where things were a little less _insane_ , Dean felt that anger-induced adrenaline flooding even hotter, and he turned on his brother, catching his chin with his elbow and shoving him away.  
  
“Fuck you,” he spat out, and right at that moment he hated his brother – hated him for throwing away everything that Dean had ever done to keep him safe and happy. Hated Sam for disregarding a lifetime of Dean going without in order to make sure Sam had what he needed and then throwing a fit the _one time_ Dean said ‘no.’  
  
“No, fuck _you_ , Dean,” Sam answered, throwing himself right back into Dean’s face so Dean could see how deep that anger ran, skin flushed so hot that it was almost purple. “You don’t get to run my life for me or decide this shit for me. You can’t protect me from every fuckin’ thing out there, and _I don’t want you to_. So back the hell off.” Sam punctuated his last words by jutting his hands out to shove Dean _hard_ , and since Dean was still itching for a fight, he grabbed the little shit and threw him against the wall, twisting his hands behind his back and scraping his cheek against the hard brick.  
  
He could hear Sam’s laughter, even with half his mouth pressed against the wall, wild and sarcastic and not at all like the soft, carefree giggles Dean had grown up loving.  
  
“Is this what you were waiting for?” Sam asked, twisting his hips a little, though not like he was actually trying to break free. “Is this how you wanted me? Pushed up against some back alley wall when you pop my cherry?”  
  
Dean was just about to ask Sam what the hell he meant when his brother cocked his hips back against Dean even more firmly, and Dean realized that he was half-hard. Fuck, all his wires were mixed up when it came to his brother, his body obviously deciding there were no rules, and with all the heat and adrenaline pumping through his system it wasn’t surprising that his cock had perked up from just the promise of Sam’s body spread out in front of him.  
  
“It’s obviously how _you_ want it,” Dean answered, voice low in Sam’s ear as he slid a hand down the back of Sam’s pants, which were practically falling off his hips. He cupped his hand to grope Sam’s ass, and part of him wanted to take Sam right here, to teach the kid a lesson and make him stop throwing himself around like he wasn’t worth so much more than this. “You’ve really been slutting it up, Sammy,” Dean added. “Although I’m starting to wonder if I’m even old enough for you.” He moved his hand so he could slide a finger down the crack of Sam’s ass, skating down and moving pressure right over his hole, and Sam’s head tilted back to lean into Dean’s shoulder. God, his brother was so easy. It was one of his favorite things about him.  
  
“Is it even me you want?” Dean asked, unable to rein in the bitter words, not after everything that had happened. “Or were you aiming for someone a little older? Fuck this, Sam, I’m starting to wonder if maybe you’ve been messing around with the wrong family member. If maybe you weren’t hoping to spread those legs for Dad, instead, and just settled for me when he never looked your way.”  
  
Sam started bucking angrily, trying to knock himself out of Dean’s hold, and Dean twisted his arms a little more until Sam groaned and fell forward. Dean’s finger went back to petting at Sam’s hole, softening the edges and teasing inside with just the tip.  
  
“This how you want it?” Dean asked, honestly curious. “You like taking men out back and letting them stick their cocks down your throat?”  
  
“You already know,” Sam answered, tone bitter and sharp. “You gotta know that was all for you.”  
  
And, just like that, hearing it from Sam and knowing it was true, Dean pulled his hand out from the back of Sam’s jeans and flipped his brother around on the wall. He held him by the shoulders for a minute, thinking how ill-equipped he was to deal with the half-grown boy in front of him, hazel eyes far too knowing and far too cynical for a face that pink-cheeked and young.  
  
There was still a spark of anger behind Sam’s eyes, fueled on by desperation so strong that it bordered on manic. But after a few minutes of Dean staring at Sam and contemplating all the possible nuances of regret, he could see uncertainty creep into the edge of his brother’s face. A tiny crease formed between Sam’s eyes, and his tongue poked out to swipe his lips in an unconscious, nervous movement.  
  
In a voice that sounded so heartbreakingly small, Sam asked, “Dean?”  
  
Dean’s eyes snapped down to Sam’s wet mouth, and before he knew it, he had pressed his own mouth against it, pulling Sam right up against his chest and using his tongue to part Sam’s lips. Sam didn’t even hesitate, threw himself against Dean and eagerly kissed him back, but when he tried to go deeper, harder, Dean turned his head, shoved himself away, and somehow found just enough self-control to _stop_.  
  
“ _Shit_. This isn’t – I still _can’t_ ,” Dean said, because in all this time, Sam had never given any other way a chance, and Dean couldn’t be the only thing Sam ever knew. “But Sammy, you gotta stop doing this. _Please_. Stop trying to prove… I already _know_ , okay?”  
  
And while he knew his brother was probably more than a little frustrated, Dean had to leave now before he’d do something he’d regret even more. So he dropped his hands, turned, and walked out of the alley, back to the hum of the bar.  
  
But before he got to the door, he heard Sam call his name, rumbled out like a storm warning, like the distant echo of thunder. He turned, figuring he owed his brother at least that much.  
  
“I won’t wait forever, you know.” Sam tipped his shoulders back to rest against the wall, eyes carefully fixed on Dean’s as he added, “And when you finally figure out what an ass you’re being about all this and decide to come back, I might not be here.”  
  
“I know,” Dean answered, and despite everything inside him screaming to go back to Sam, to fix this before it was lost forever, he pushed open the door and went inside.  
  
*&*  
  
Dean hadn’t thought things could get any worse, but he’d been wrong. Sam started staying out late, ignoring curfew, refusing to explain where he’d been. When he eventually stumbled home, he was drunk more often than not, and Dean wanted to shake him during those times and demand to know how Sam could be so stupid as to let himself get that vulnerable with people he couldn’t possibly know all that well.  
  
When a job cropped up in Missouri, John decided to leave the boys at a friend’s cabin while he partnered up with a fellow hunter in the area. Both John and Dean knew that Sam was way too unpredictable to count on during a hunt right now, and Dean needed to stay behind to make sure Sam didn’t get into any worse trouble.  
  
Summer had just started, so they didn’t have to worry about school, and they were in the middle of nowhere so there wasn’t really anywhere for Sam to wander off to except the woods. Most of the time they just stayed out of each other’s way, Sam burying himself in books and Dean alternating between target practice out back and TV inside. He’d been worried about his brother pushing things again, since it was just the two of them, and he was almost disappointed when Sam ignored him, flinching away when Dean so much as tried to put a hand on his back.  
  
Dean had resigned himself to spending his time carefully staying out of Sam’s way, trying to give Sam time to get over it and move on. But then he looked outside one afternoon, and all bets were off.  
  
Sam was on the side of the cabin, washing down the Impala, a bucket of suds at his feet along with several towels and a leaking hose. He had on a pair of low-riding jeans and a thin, white tank top that was soaked through to the point of near transparency, the clinging material revealing every dip and curve of Sam’s abs and chest, which were just starting to gain some real definition. When Sam leaned down to swipe more soap onto the front of Dean’s Baby, Dean couldn’t help appreciating how perfect Sam looked bent over the hood, his pert ass on display like it was waiting for Dean’s hands to tug those damp jeans right off and pull his cheeks apart.  
  
It took Dean a few minutes to figure out _why_ his brother was washing his car, and then he remembered the long, tedious drive through New Mexico a couple months back, when they’d burned through all the usual car entertainment and still had miles to go before meeting up with their dad.  Dean had pulled out a bag of marshmallows and issued a challenge, and Sam had been just bored enough to take him on. After a pretty spectacular loss, Sam had agreed to wash the Impala as payment, although when they’d finally made it to Nevada, their dad had been waiting with a case and they’d both forgotten about that agreement. Until now, obviously.  
  
Watching Sam through the window, Dean couldn’t help thinking how utterly pornographic his brother looked like this, and the worst thing was, he didn’t think Sam was even trying. When it came down to it, Dean’s libido responded to everything his brother did, got hot just watching the kid brush his teeth. Although he had to admit that seeing his brother wet and spread out on his Baby was one of the hottest sights he could think of, and it had him turning dizzy and lightheaded from all the blood rushing south like there was a finish line at his cock.  
  
All the reasons not to do this were still there; nothing had really changed. And yet Dean knew every day had him that much closer to breaking, it was all just a matter of time, and fighting it seemed pretty pointless now. When Sam wanted something bad enough, nothing could convince him to leave it alone. And while Dean often cursed his brother’s stubborn nature, he couldn’t help admiring it at the same time. The kid knew what he wanted.  
  
He felt like he was sleepwalking as he opened the door and stumbled his way over to his brother. Sam was still hosing off the soap suds when Dean came behind him, and with the sharp sound of water hitting the hood and Pearl Jam blasting from the boom box just a few feet away, Sam obviously hadn’t heard Dean walk up.  
  
When Sam released the trigger of the hose, the stream shut off into abrupt silence, and he turned to set it on the ground. He cocked an eyebrow up at the sight of Dean standing less than a foot away then leaned back with a small, sarcastic smile.  
  
“What do you want, Dean?” Sam asked, annoyed.  
  
There was no way Dean could get out the words, so he reached towards Sam, just needing that contact after going so long with nothing. But Sam batted his hand away with a sharp, angry slap, eyes flashing in warning.  
  
“What the fuck do you want?” Sam asked again, even more pissed than before.  
  
“I—” Dean shook his head and trailed off, wondering if he’d waited too long to be able to take this back. Sam’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Dean contemplatively, hazel irises turned dark and cloudy. Then, lightning-snap quick, he reached out to fist the front of Dean’s shirt, dragging him forward and leaning in to speak directly into Dean’s ear.  
  
“Is this your way of waving the white flag?” Sam asked, his deceptively pillow-soft tone filled with razor blades and broken glass. “You think you can just touch me and I’ll melt, let you fuck me against the car until everything’s like it was before? You think I’m some fairy tale princess that you can kiss and everything will be sunshine and puppies again?”  
  
“No, Sammy, I – ”  
  
Sam shook Dean, jolting him hard enough that the words choked in Dean’s throat, and he growled, “ _Shut up,_ Dean. I’m still talking. Things are never gonna be what they were before because _you walked away_. So tell me now, big brother, should I go be everything you said I was? Because you’re _always_ right, aren’t you? Should I go slut up the town again, on my knees for everything with a cock? Or should I wait until Dad gets back, slide right into his bed and beg him to fuck me just like you said I wanted?”  
  
“No, _god_ , Sam, I’m so sor – ”  
  
But Sam cut him off again with a tug and growl, and he moved his head back so he could glare into Dean’s face. “Don’t. No more bullshit. No more sweeping things under the rug and pretending they never existed. No telling me this was a _mistake_ after sucking my brains out through my cock more times than I could count. If you want this, you gotta be sure.”  
  
Dean reached up to put his hand over Sam’s wrist where he was still fisting Dean’s shirt Trying to calm his brother down, his voice soft and sincere, he said, “I’m _sure_ , Sammy, I swear. It’s just you and me, no going back.”  
  
Sam didn’t look convinced, and he glanced down to stare at Dean’s fingers wrapped around his wrist. Then his grip tightened in Dean’s shirt, and he spun them both around so he could shove Dean against the car, and some strange, confusing thrill tightened in Dean’s chest at how easily his little brother had thrown him around.  
  
While Dean was still trying to catch his breath, Sam surged forward and attacked his mouth, kissing his brother like it was a punishment, pressing so hard that Dean felt his lips start to bruise and grow numb.  
  
Dean accepted the pain with relief; happy to take whatever Sam gave him, willing to suffer whatever penalty Sam thought he deserved. He still had no idea if this was the right thing, but he knew that it was inescapable. They could be each other’s damnation or salvation, he honestly had no idea which, but their lives and selves were fused together with years of heat and pressure, and trying to pry them apart would do more harm than good.  
  
In-between hot, painful kisses, Sam started pulling at Dean’s shirt, hands rough and impatient as he yanked it over Dean’s head then went down to fumble with his pants. When Dean was completely naked, skin stripped bare and laid open to the sky, Sam pushed him back against the hood of the car, placing a flat palm onto Dean’s chest. He stared down at Dean like he still wasn’t sure, couldn’t quite trust that Dean was going to go through with his promise, and that doubt slammed painfully into Dean’s chest. He wished he could say that he’d never lie to his brother, but he’d been lying to Sam almost his whole life, from the time Sam had asked his very first question, his large hazel eyes serious and distressed when he’d asked Dean why they were always moving.  
  
Then Sam slipped himself over Dean, covering Dean’s body with his own and pressing his lips over Dean’s chest, neck, jaw and mouthing words straight into Dean’s skin. It took a while for Dean to register what Sam was saying, but then Sam moved further up and Dean could hear the promises Sam was making – telling Dean how Sam was gonna take care of him, how long he’d waited for the chance, that this wasn’t just a fuckin’ phase or a fling, how he _needed_ Dean so bad it scared him sometimes. And Dean let his fingers tangle in Sam’s hair as he lay back and let Sam get it all out.  
  
“I can take care of you too, Dean,” Sam said fiercely, teeth scraping the bolt of Dean’s jaw. “You’re not the only one willing to risk his life for his brother, you know.”  
  
“Don’t you _ever_ risk yourself for me,” Dean replied, panicked at the thought. “That’s not the way this works.”  
  
Dark expression returning, Sam pushed himself up and glowered at Dean underneath dark, fanned lashes. “There you are, giving me orders again. I’m getting pretty tired of it.”  
  
Sam took ahold of Dean so he could flip him over, pressing his belly against the warm metal of the car, and Dean couldn’t even be sorry for what he’d said. Nothing mattered except keeping Sammy safe, even if it meant his brother would hate him for that suffocating overprotection. Dean would _do_ anything, _say_ anything, so long as at the end of the day his brother was alive and safe.  
  
“Spread your legs,” Sam demanded, and Dean knew Sam was a Winchester by that double-standard order. Sliding his hand between Dean’s thighs, Sam encouraged Dean’s legs wider. Tone going softer, he added, “C’mon, baby. Wanna feel inside you.”  
  
Dean shivered as that endearment wormed its way under his skin, making his dick fatten up in interest as he obediently stretched his legs apart, spread open and vulnerable to his little brother in a way he’d never been before. He wasn’t completely sure if he liked it, but something about letting go of the need for control, just for a minute, was very freeing.  
  
When Sam’s hands started rubbing up and down Dean’s back, he let out a deep breath and pressed his face to the black hood, grateful for the comfort of his Baby, all sun-warm and newly clean underneath his bare skin. Two of Sam’s fingers skated down Dean’s spine, sliding between Dean’s cheeks and teasing around the pucker.  
  
“You gonna open up for me, big brother?” His words were barely above a whisper, and Dean closed his eyes and focused his attention on every inch of skin Sam was touching. “Gonna let me fill you up with my cock, shoved so deep that you’ll feel for me for days after, burning inside every time you move?”  
  
“Yeah, Sam,” Dean managed to respond, his breath fogging up the metal beneath his mouth, and he meant every word as he said, “Anything you want. Wanna feel you.”  
  
Suddenly Sam’s hands were gone, and Dean whimpered as he felt the heat of Sam’s body move away.  
  
“Shh, just stay there,” Sam soothingly replied, gently pushing Dean back down. “Told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I? Trust me.” He leaned down to press his lips to the tip of Dean’s tailbone, the ghost of the imprint left behind like a promise before he took a step back. Dean could hear the creak of the Impala’s door opening, a soft rustle inside, and then the sound of something tearing open behind him and he remembered all the packets stashed in his glove compartment.  
  
Sam’s hand was heavy on the bell curve of his back, and Dean arched into it, touch-starved after weeks of Sam shying away and keeping his distance. When Sam’s other hand slid into Dean’s ass, wet finger rubbing back and forth against the furled hole, Dean tried not to give away all his secrets, held his breath and attempted to quiet his moans. But he figured Sam knew away, especially with the way Dean’s hips were tilting up, his body all slutty angles and eager twitches that Dean couldn’t even begin to hold back.  
  
It was a slow, stretching pressure, and Dean relaxed into the pleasurable, muted ache of it. It wasn’t the first time Sam had fingered him open, although it was the first time he’d done it for anything other than the feel of Dean clenching around his fingers. When the stereo went quiet, fading from one song to the next, Dean could hear the loud pants coming from them both, breaths almost in sync. Then a slow guitar came in with Eddie Vedder’s muffled lyrics, and Sam withdrew his fingers.  
  
“You ready for me?” he asked, and Dean couldn’t answer, just pressed his forehead against the hood and presented himself, hoping that was answer enough and glad Sam couldn’t see the blush slashed across his cheeks and nose.  
  
He could hear the sound of Sam slicking up his cock before pressing the blunt end against Dean’s entrance, and Dean forced himself to keep breathing, to stay relaxed through the slow slide. Every inch made Dean feel impossibly full, stretched to his limit, and yet somehow he managed to keep taking it as Sam shoved in further. Eventually Sam bottomed out, balls pressed right up against Dean’s ass, and Dean tried to adjust to the very real feeling of being filled up by his little brother.  
  
Sam bent himself over Dean, lips roaming Dean’s shoulders, trying to keep his hips still until Dean got used to the overly-full feeling. His breath carried across Dean’s skin as he growled “Mine” right into the meat of Dean’s back, hands clamping down tightly around his shoulders like he thought Dean might actually _deny_ that claim. Like Dean hadn’t already given his whole self over to Sam the moment Sam was thrust into his arms while smoke and fire chased them out of their home.  
  
When he couldn’t stand the wait any longer, Dean reached back to pull at Sam’s thigh, growling out, “C’mon, move” as he rolled his hips back. Apparently Sam didn’t have to be told twice, he grabbed onto Dean’s shoulders so he could slam in and out with hard, brutal movements that made Dean think his brother wasn’t quite finished being angry; needed to make sure Dean knew where things stood.  
  
Dean was sure that the roughness was meant as punishment, but the power behind it had Dean leaking against the paint of his car, reminding Dean that Sam wasn’t so little anymore, was starting to give Dean a run for his money every time they tested their strength against one another. And maybe Dean shouldn’t find that thought as hot as he did, should probably feel threatened or something, but he liked the idea of Sam being a force to be reckoned with.  
  
“Fuck, Dean, just knew you’d feel this good,” Sam said, his voice a hoarse, sex-strained stutter behind him. There was nothing to grip, so Dean was yanked back and forth against the slippery surface of the hood while Sam fucked into him, his body the only thing keeping Dean from sliding to the ground. “Wanted to do this forever, you have no idea how long, knew once I had my cock inside you, you’d take it like a perfect cock slut, so tight and eager.”  
  
And Dean didn’t even know when it had happened, if some part of him had always wanted it this way, had always known they’d end up like this, but all he could do was nod as he felt the friction of the hood go hot under his stomach, agreeing with everything Sam said and mumbling for his brother to fuck him harder.  
  
Sam’s hands clenched tighter, digging painfully into Dean’s shoulder in a way he wouldn’t ever complain about, especially with Sam pistoning faster, his thrusts growing desperate and the rhythm stuttering in the final rounds. He shoved in one last time, bottoming out and groaning as his warmth flooded inside Dean, making Dean mentally curse when he realized Sam hadn’t even put on one of the condoms from inside his glove compartment, and _fuck_ , who knew where all those other men had been sticking their cocks before Sam. But the voice shut up when Sam finally cocked his hips just right, brushing against the place inside Dean that had him cursing out loud, gasping and struggling to remember how to breathe again when everything turned to bright, fractured supernovas behind his eyes.  
  
When Sam finished and pulled out, his come leaking out of Dean’s ass, he flipped his brother over again, dropping to his knees and taking his brother’s cock right into his wet, eager mouth.  
  
It only took a few good bobs to get Dean shooting off, and Sam stayed latched on through every burst, sucking on Dean’s cock like a man parched and dying. When the pin-prickle of overstimulation got to be too much, Dean whimpered and flexed his fingers in Sam’s hair, and Sam gave one last rebellious suck around the crown before pulling off and rising to his feet, boxing Dean against the car again.  
  
Usually Sam was a cuddler after he came, pressing sleepy kisses into the nearest bit of Dean-skin he could find and emitting soft, demanding hums until Dean finally put his arm around him and pulled him close. But Sam didn’t look inclined to cuddle just now, just stared down at Dean with a distant, wary look. More than anything, Dean wanted to tug Sam against him and work molasses-slow into his lips, careful of the bruises starting to darken both their mouths. But then Sam’s eyes narrowed in a way that gave Dean an uneasy corkscrew twist in his stomach.  
  
“You ever think about walking away from this again, Dean, and I will leave,” Sam promised, measured and portentous, and Dean knew he meant every word. “I will pack my things, take the next bus out of town, and you will never hear from me again. You understand?”  
  
And when Dean nodded solemnly, Sam leaned down to move his lips against Dean’s, slow and soft and somehow not at all what Dean had wanted, feeding Dean the bitter taste of himself and whispering “good” right into his mouth.


End file.
